


guilty as charged (you were on my mind)

by tooshy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooshy/pseuds/tooshy
Summary: An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. It takes years for Dongyoung to find the flaw in the paradox.(Or the one where it’s not a matter of when Dongyoung falls for Jungwoo, it's a matter of when he owns up to it.)





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> i hate myself for the amount of times the word gay is said in this

Dongyoung is not entirely sure how Jungwoo became a constant in his life.

“We were brought together by fate,” Jungwoo had claimed once when retelling how they met to a then newly acquainted Jaehyun, at the same time Dongyoung had been saying, “we were paired up for a biology project.” Jungwoo had insisted it was the same thing.

Reluctant weekly meetings in the school’s library for freshman biology turned into walking home together after school in sophomore year and texting throughout the entire day as juniors, and suddenly Dongyoung found himself applying to the same colleges he saw Jungwoo bookmark on his laptop one afternoon in senior year, and it’s Jungwoo who jumped onto Dongyoung’s back and clung to him for dear life the second their graduation caps hit the ground.

In between all of that, in the little moments that have escaped Dongyoung’s mind with time, Jungwoo becomes his best friend. Both a perpetual nuisance and his ultimate source of comfort.

But Dongyoung’s always been a little greedy and a lot chicken-hearted. Translation: he was bound to fuck up at some point.

 

* * *

 

The first time could have been excused as a drunken mistake. It wasn’t, but it could have been.

They’re at a frat party, which Dongyoung always thinks are a bit far from what western movies make you believe fraternity parties are like. There’s drinks and loud music and a joint or five going around, but there’s no wild beer pong match going on or some dumbass doing a keg stand. The wildest thing he’s seen all night is Donghyuck try to make a shot out of the pool’s water mixed with vodka and Taeyong scream bloody murder about how the mix of chlorine and alcohol _will probably kill him or like, blind him or something._ They’ve been sitting on the edge of the pool for twenty minutes now reading Wikipedia articles trying to find out whether it's actually poisonous. Dongyoung gives it five more minutes before Hyuck says fuck it and goes looking for some orange juice to mix with instead.

He lost Jungwoo half an hour in when Yukhei threw an arm over his shoulder and took him god-knows-where, and ten minutes later Jaehyun’s by his side dragging him around for the rest of the night. He only sees Jungwoo again when he’s out in the backyard, sitting on a clear spot on a frail oak table that is probably on its last days, and his friend approaches him as he looks around the yard a few times.

“Have you seen Yukhei? I was talking to him and I turned around for a second and,” he makes a _puff_ sound, hand gestures and all, “he just vanished.”

“He probably ran off with Dumb and Dumber.” Dongyoung surveys the crowd for Mark and Ten but comes up blank. Eh, they’ll manage.

Jungwoo takes a seat next to him, holding a plastic cup filled with something reddish that smells like hell. It’s been years since their first party together and Dongyoung still has zero clue how Jungwoo manages to handle his alcohol the way he does. He might as well be five shots in and still look like butter wouldn’t melt.

“How's your night?” Jungwoo asks and takes a sip, visibly holding back a grimace. That probably also _tastes_ like hell.

“Jaehyun,” he groans, like that's answer enough. Judging by Jungwoo’s laugh, it is. “Remind me again why I’m nice to him.”

“You aren't.”

“Lies.”

Jungwoo makes to tip his cup forward and give him a taste of whatever he has in there. Thank God for fast reflexes. The cup ends up on the floor and Jungwoo is left with sticky hands, Dongyoung’s smile bright and wide.

“He tried to set me up with someone. Guess if he failed.”

An overdramatic gasp. “And here I was thinking that what we had was special,” Jungwoo pouts at him in all his faux innocence. The nerve, seriously. “Am I not pretty enough for you?”

Dongyoung did a couple jello shots and he’s been nursing a beer for a while, so he isn’t exactly sober, but it’s still odd for him to have his drunk vision goggles on. He can’t think of any other reason why he would find himself staring at Jungwoo, his grey dye-fried hair and round face and smiling eyes and that eyebrow slit he shaved on impulse but he somehow pulls off and the way he’s grinning up at him, head tilted back and cheeks pink from the cold, and tell him as earnestly as possible, “Nonsense, you’re gorgeous.”

Which might have been the least straight way to reassure your friend that he’s good looking. He _has_ to be drunk.

“Oh.” Jungwoo says articulately. His eyes shift over Dongyoung’s face—his tomato red, sweaty, I-just-said-something-super-gay face—until something piques their interest and they settle over Dongyoung’s shoulder, and, “ _Oh._ ”

“What?”

“I found Yukhei.”

Turning his head as far back as he can, he doesn’t need to browse the backyard for long to get a glimpse of Yukhei doing a keg stand with Mark and Ten holding up his legs. Maybe western movies weren’t that far off.

 

* * *

 

“Xuxi’s on bed rest.” Ten smiles, like drinking until you're unable to cope with basic human necessities is an accomplishment. Dongyoung thinks it probably is in his book.

Their communal kitchen is fairly empty except for them both and Kun, Dongyoung digging into some cup ramen while Ten waits for Kun to heat up some leftovers. (“Isn’t that pizza from Tuesday? It’s Saturday.” “Look, Dongyoung, we’re two poor gay foreign college students.” “What does being gay have to do with not having money?” “See? You're already doubting my income. Homophobia is everywhere.” Kun’s only input had been a shrug.)

“Is he sick?” Kun asks, taking their plates out of the microwave and sitting down on the four seater table. Dongyoung shakes his head with cheeks stuffed with food at the same time Ten says, “He's hangover. One and the same”

The door opens and Dongyoung doesn't need to turn around to know it's Jungwoo, being able to recognize him by those squeaky trainers he got last month. He tenses up a bit, suddenly not knowing how to sit naturally. How does he act when he's being casual? Where do his hands even _go_?

“Hey, guys.” Jungwoo takes a seat next to him, their thighs touching. Do they always sit like this? Dongyoung’s gonna short-circuit _._ “Yukhei’s still alive?”

He gets a _barely_ from Ten and an _unfortunately_ from Dongyoung. Cackling, Jungwoo takes the cup ramen from the other’s hand and gulps down some, giving it back as he chews loudly (Dongyoung has given up on telling him _gross, close your mouth_ because that works for fifteen minutes before he's back to talking with his mouth full). Quick to snap back, Dongyoung gathers his almost empty plastic cup of instant ramen closer to himself.

“Get your own.”

“I’m a poor gay foreign student—"

“That's Ten’s excuse! You're not even a foreigner!”

Their banter goes on, their thighs remain pressed together and Jungwoo gets to drink the last of the soup after sharing the noodles. _Huh_. So maybe Dongyoung’s comment wasn't as odd as he imagined. And here he was thinking that—

 

“It was pretty gay,” Jungwoo muses, frown in place as his pencil moves along the page mindlessly. From the other side of the table, Kun hums without looking away from his notes, highlighting a word or two every now and then.

Jungwoo accidentally presses down a bit too hard and the lead breaks. That's what he gets for using cheap pencils for sketching. He scans the table for his sharpener, but no such luck. “If he had said it casually I would have let it pass because, I don't know,” It’s not under his sketchbook. Not under his pencil case. He slips a hand under his butt and feels around—not there either. “I was expecting him to joke around, but he sounded kinda serious out of the sudden? And he just...”

He looks up to find Kun’s extended hand holding a green sharpener, and Jungwoo takes it with a sigh. How does he always do that?

“It was pretty gay.” Kun ends Jungwoo’s rambling for him, and yeah, he supposes that’s the short version. Jungwoo resorts to nodding while sharpening and makes a mental note to replace these old-ass pencils—he knows he’s the stingiest art student ever.

“He was a bit drunk though, maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing.” When he looks at Kun, he’s already gone back to his homework. How _dare_ he not pay Jungwoo attention when that's their number one—and only—friendship rule. He resorts to whining and kicking him under the table until he puts his pen down. “Am I making a big deal out of nothing?”

Kun, helpful as ever, looks down and flips a page of his notebook. “Only drunks and children tell the truth, Jungwoo.”

(“Thanks for the words of wisdom, but if I’d wanted some advice from my grandma I would have just called her—Ouch, ouch, let go, that hurts!”)

 

* * *

 

Jungwoo likes to express his relief by throwing himself on top of people. Having had his fair share of surprise suffocating hugs, Dongyoung should be used to suddenly finding himself sprawled out on the floor with a five-foot-something guy laying over him. He’s not.

“Worst experience of my fucking life.” Jungwoo sighs, making himself comfortable on top of his friend. Dongyoung’s dorm hall is thankfully empty. “I’m done with my midterms. I thought they’d never end, like I would be stuck on a time loop sitting for European Art History over and over again, but I’m free, Do—”

“Can't breathe."

“Oh, right.”

He rolls over next to him, occupying the entirety of the narrow hall. Dongyoung tries to get up until he finds it to be too much effort. _He's too old for this._ He doesn't say so because he knows what Jungwoo’s trigger reaction is every time. (“You're twenty, the only thing old about you is your asthma and those 2012 Converse you always have on.”)

Jungwoo shifts around until he has his chin propped on Dongyoung’s chest, toothy smile on full display. “You’re done too, right? With midterms.”

His newly-dyed black hair really suits him, has Dongyoung told him that yet? Oh, he also smells hella good. He must have switched colognes. Or is that his shampoo?

Wait, he was asked something. _Words, Dongyoung. Use them._

“Uh, yeah.” _Good enough._

“Great, we can go out to celebrate.” Jungwoo jumps up—so jovially too, Dongyoung’s legs ache just from watching—and helps him up with great effort.

Dongyoung grabs his discarded bag on the floor and walks the ten steps left to his room, feeling his pockets up for his key, with Jungwoo hot on his heels.

“So what do you say? Are we going out?”

“Aw, you're willing to make me think I have a choice, that's cute. I know you're dragging me out anyways.”

 

* * *

 

They go to a house party, far less crowded than that last frat a few weeks ago. There are under a hundred people, mostly from the same courses as them (those Jungwoo knows are fellow Fine Arts majors and a few from Dongyoung’s Linguistics course), in celebration of midterms being finished. It's that tranquil lapse of time where they can relax and pretend finals aren't an actual thing, and Jungwoo lives for it. The calm after the storm but right before a mini tornado, he thinks.

The last he saw of Dongyoung was an hour ago or so, when Jaehyun called him over and they beelined for the kitchen. In that whole hour, Jungwoo has a shot, talks with Kun and his friends, flirts with one of them, has him fetch him another shot, pickpockets ten thousand won out of the guy's jeans and is about to ditch him before he realizes when Kun rides up his shirt and presses a cold can of something against his bare side. That earns him a squirm and a shove, but chalk it up to Kun to be the giggly, annoying drunk—he still chuckles brightly and opens his can of beer as well as he can while shaking with laughter.

Beer is all he's been drinking ever since Sicheng poked fun at him for liking fruity cocktails. Jungwoo kind of wants to give him a Cosmopolitan and tell him no one gives two shits if he has blueberry juice with his alcohol, _it would be the least gay thing about you._ Maybe let him on that Sicheng gags over the smell of whisky alone so he has something to fire back at him next time. Would that be too petty?

Arms wrap around him from behind him and a cold nose finds its way between his neck and shoulder. For a second he thinks it's the guy he had been flirting with, but then his eyes fall on him, standing a few metres away with eyebrows raised. He closes his own hand around one of the wrists holding him, bony and smooth, a silver bracelet he knows to well sliding between his fingers, and as much as he may not want it to it's so Dongyoung it's unmistakable.

This is—No, there is nothing _pretty_ about this. This is just plain gay.

Some of Kun’s friends standing around them begin to laugh when Dongyoung tries to bury his nose deeper, breath hot against his neck. It takes all of Jungwoo’s willpower and then some to keep himself from sliding out of his friend’s embrace, and instead forces himself to laugh along, reaching around to pat Dongyoung’s hair. It's sweaty, messy from fingers running through. Did he make out with someone? Why is it the smaller the party, the more Dongyoung lets himself go?

The nose persists against his neck.

“Do you wanna move in there, bud?” Jungwoo smiles and tilts his head back. It's the worst idea he's had all night, because Dongyoung turns to look at him and the corners of his mouth quirk up a bit too gently. He’s too sober for this.

“Hey, Kun!” Dongyoung greets without breaking away, back to nosing the side of Jungwoo’s neck. The arms around his waist squeeze him once more, and there's a sniff, Dongyoung breathing him in. “Mm, you all better be treating my Jungwoo right.”

Jungwoo can feel the empty shot glass he’s holding pressed against his stomach. Dongyoung drinking soju is never a good sign. Hell, he doesn't need signs, _this_ isn't good. Thank fuck Dongyoung’s drunk enough not to notice the thump of his heart that's threatening to shake the whole floor beneath him.

“Isn't he the prettiest? He's a baby. My baby.”

The first time might have been excusable, maybe even unremarkable, but this takes the cake. Jungwoo is being played like a fiddle, and they aren't even halfway to crescendo.

Everyone laughs at Dongyoung’s blabber, even Kun with beer spilled over his front—Jungwoo is _never_ getting him that Cosmopolitan, that traitor. The guy he flirted with pats his pockets with a confused frown, and he registers being called baby for a fifth time.

This is gonna be a long night.

 

* * *

 

Midterms being over doesn't mean stressing out until the early hours of the morning is too. Deadlines are creeping up on Dongyoung, his small desk littered with post-its that tell of dates for presentations and rubrics for essays, and for someone who’s always been on top of their work, suddenly finding himself having to catch up with everything due is draining to say the least.

Which is why waking up before ten a.m is unthinkable right now. He submitted this weeks’ last paper at four in the morning after an afternoon lecture and a late night study session with his group, so he thinks he’s in his right to sleep today off.

Jungwoo clearly doesn't agree.

He is woken up at a quarter to ten by someone coming into his room, heavy steps accompanied by the rustling of a bag. Something gives him away, allows Dongyoung to tell it's not his roommate nor anyone else other than Jungwoo. Something about the way he carries himself, the pattern of his steps or his heavy breaths.

He does know it's actually because of those damn trainers he refuses to take off that won’t quit squeaking, but he wants to think it's because he knows him too well. For some reason, the thought of being able to set Jungwoo apart from the rest of the world, even drunk on sleep with eyes closed, is oddly comforting. That's more food for thought than he can chew right now, so he presses a pillow over his head and counts down from ten Mississippi. It surprisingly doesn't make the bump that settles at the end of his bed disappear.

“How did you get here?” His voice is muffled by the pillow, but Jungwoo seems to understand him well enough.

“You never lock the door, dummy.”

He can feel Jungwoo slightly bouncing up and down, and he doesn't want to jinx it, but that's the happy dance Jungwoo does whenever he's about to have food, so…

“Come on, I got us breakfast.”

Dongyoung can't help his grin, and props himself against the wall as he rubs the gunk out of his eyes. The light blinds him for a second or two before he's able to see his best friend sat criss cross with a paper bag on his lap, a logo from the bakery round the corner printed over it. That was the rustling he heard.

“I know you haven't eaten anything yet ‘cause Kun’s been in the kitchen since fuck o’clock and he said he didn't see you this morning.”

Dongyoung smiles, nose picking up on the smell of baked goods filling the room. “Does Kun ever sleep?”

Jungwoo’s laugh makes his eyes crinkle up in all the right ways, and Dongyoung seems to forget how exhausted he's supposed to be.

“He literally texted me good morning at five a.m, the lunatic.” He snorts, and then his eyes widen and he gets out a little _oh_ , like he just remembered why he was there. Bending down to grab two large cups from the side of the bed, he offers one to Dongyoung. “Boba for you and a latte for me,” he places the wrinkled bag in between them, “and I got some green tea cookies.”

Dongyoung peaks inside the small paper bag and smiles at the green cookies sitting at the bottom. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, Jungwoo’s popped into his room with breakfast for the both of them before, but it somehow feels different. He's too aware of the cup of bubble tea warming up in his hold, of Jungwoo slipping his sneakers off to get under the covers next to him. It's different in the way that Dongyoung becomes aware of how natural it feels, it's different in that there's no difference at all in what they're doing, in how Jungwoo’s behaving. It's the same as always, except for Dongyoung.

He watches the condensation on his cup for a moment, runs his finger through it and draws figure-eights on the cup's side. “So whose treat is this?”

“A friend of Kun’s from Saturday’s party, can't remember his name. Can you believe he had ten thousand won just sitting there inside his pocket? Poor thing looked lonely, so I took him in. Good samaritan and all that.” He takes a sip of his coffee and frowns. “The cookies are on me, though. The boba from that place you like is _pricey,_ you high-maintenance bitch.”

“Thanks for the love, baby." Dongyoung’s smirk lets on he’s naively playing along, not seeking to be cruel. Jungwoo kind of wishes he was, just to have a right to hate his guts right now. (He can't, and even if he had a reason to he wouldn't.)

His smile dims, barely so but enough to be noticed. When he tosses the paper bag at Dongyoung’s lap, it feels like there’s a weight to it. Like a timer’s been set off. Dongyoung stares at the bag as if it could tell him what he did wrong.

A laugh bubbles out of Jungwoo, and just like that the mood shifts and they're back to normal.

“Dig in, yeah? If they aren't crisp I'll give them to Yukhei and tell him they're fresh out of the oven.”

 


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so overdramatic uhhhh

There is absolutely no reason for an Arts major to have mandatory Maths, which is probably exactly why he has them. He would like to have a word with the head of department. (Actually, just two words: fuck you.)

“It's easy once you get it!” Kun says optimistically, scribbling the key formulas at the top of the page. There's way too many variables in that, to say Jungwoo is lost would imply that at one point he was on the right track. He's been doomed from class one.

“Look, all the exercises ask you the same thing, they just give you different data. Once you figure out what you need to find and where to start it's pretty mechanical.”

Jungwoo honestly, with a hand on his heart, tries to follow Kun’s reasoning. That doesn't mean he's successful—If anything, he has even more questions, and the number of variables still haunts him.

His phone buzzes and lights up, laying side up on the library table. Jungwoo’s eyes immediately dart to the screen. Dongyoung. _Pizza tonight?_

Kun seems to sense Jungwoo has diverted his attention and takes a peak too, right on time to catch him typing back a quick _sounds good!_ followed by some obnoxious japanese emoticon he only ever uses with Dongyoung and his mum. At first Kun would point out every little thing Jungwoo did that screamed pining, but after a few months—even if he swears he loves Jungwoo to the moon and back—it got old real quick. There's only so many times he can monologue Jungwoo about talking things out instead of bottling them up without feeling like his friend is a lost cause.

Still, like the supportive guy he is, and _because_ he loves Jungwoo to the moon and back, Kun asks. He's obliged to, at this point.

“How are things with Doyoungie?” He prods, resting his chin on his hands and hoping he sounds nonchalant enough.

Schooling his features to the best of his ability, Jungwoo shrugs, phone now face down on the table. There’s a second of hesitancy before he answers, “Uh, good? Why wouldn't we be okay?”

Kun doesn't need to do much else before Jungwoo’s resolve dissipates on its own. In the silence of the library, the scooting of Jungwoo’s chair echoes in the Statistics section, trying to get closer to Kun. He folds in a bit until they're face to face and talks under his breath, just because he's always been one for the dramatics.

“He keeps—Okay, at first he kind of drunk flirted and like, that's a thing friends do, right?” He says nodding, like he's answering his own question.

Kun blinks at him. “ _Right._ ”

“And that was fine, I mean, not fine really but you can blame it on the alcohol, you know? He’s a touchy drunk, he likes calling me pet names, it's fine. He called me baby fourteen times, whatever! But—”

“You counted?”

“ _But_ , he won’t ever bring it up! Whenever we get wasted he’ll ask me what he did if he doesn’t remember and we’ll laugh about it, but he never goes _hey, remember how I cried over how pretty your nose is and kept booping it all night with snot all over my face? That was a fun one,"_  he mocks, by now yelling the quietest he can.

He leans back on his chair, huffing, when his eyes widen and he’s back, all up in Kun’s face. “And get this!” he whispers loudly again, hands going to Kun’s arms and shaking him. “He’s being weird sober too. The other day he went like, _you look nice today_. Who says that? Guys that are into you, that's who.” Jungwoo throws his hands around and knocks a book off the table, eliciting a hush from someone on the other side of the bookshelf.

Kun sighs as he picks it up and places it on his side of the table. “I say this with love,” he assures, patting one of Jungwoo’s hands. “You sound absolutely mental whisper yelling like that.”

“I'm angry inside a library! How else am I supposed to talk?”

 

* * *

 

_Macchiato with an extra shot of espresso, Matcha with light ice, a skinny latte and a Pumpkin Spice. Macchiato with an extra shot of espresso, Matcha with light ice—_

“Good afternoon, what can I get started for you?”

“Uhm, a macchiato with... light ice? And, uh—”

Dongyoung huffs out a laugh that cuts Jungwoo off, and relays their order the right way. _He could have done that._

“I could have done that,” Jungwoo says with arms crossed, pout in place while they wait for their drinks. “I could have ordered, you're just mean and impatient.”

“Nah, every time you have to get more than two drinks you mix them up. It's cute.”

 _Cute_. What a bastard.

Someone shouts from the counter. “Matcha for Dongyoung!”

“I gotta pee. Can you bring all that to the table, Do?”

“Wait—”

“Order me a brownie while you are at it, would you? Thanks!”

 

* * *

 

A perk of Jungwoo’s body being on the smaller side is that he can dodge between people quite easily, which comes in pretty handy at times. Like right now, with Jungwoo swerving about to avoid colliding with other students in the busy campus. He slept through his alarms—all six of them—and being late to Miss Lee’s class one more time could cost him fifteen percent of his final grade. It’s safe to say arriving a minute after nine a.m is not an option.

He makes a turn for his faculty’s building, apologies flying out of his mouth, when he catches sight of Dongyoung walking in his opposite direction, coming back right from where Jungwoo needs to go. The moment they cross paths, he only spares him a wave and a “I’m really late. I’ll meet you for lunch, yeah?” that comes out as well as his agitation will let him.

He’s ready to rush to the first floor just as Dongyoung turns him around by the shoulders.

“Hold up a sec.” A sleeve-covered hand comes up to rub at his chin, the other one curling around his jaw to hold him still. “You had a bit of drool.”

As if that wasn’t enough, Dongyoung angles his face down a bit and brushes his hair back into place, sweaty bangs coming to rest on his forehead. “There,” he flashes a smile and gives Jungwoo a weak push in the direction of his classroom.

If he steps on Dongyoung’s foot as he runs off, it's purely accidental.

 

* * *

 

Like most times, Kun ends up being right. Jungwoo would rather die than let him know that though.

“Baby!” Dongyoung’s shout can be heard over the music just barely. Jungwoo is tempted to keep on walking in a straight line and pretend he didn't hear anything. Why should he answer to baby, anyway?

 _Fifteen,_ he counts regardless.

Dongyoung has always been one for skinship. Not in a clingy way like Hyuck, who'll find any chance to attach himself to your side and will drape over your lap at all times, but Dongyoung will casually place a hand on your thigh or play with your hands as he talks. Even then, it doesn't compare to how affectionate he's been recently. The amount of drunk back hugs he's gotten in the past week put Donghyuck’s clinginess to shame.

A hand pulls him down onto the sofa, sticky with sweat and who knows what else, and his jeans cling to the leather. It’s the least of his concerns, however, when Dongyoung is cupping his cheeks with the biggest pout he can muster. “I missed you,” he tells him way too seriously, and as much as Jungwoo tries to fight it, it brings a chuckle out of him. “I went to the toilet. I left for five minutes,” Jungwoo grins, patting his knee once.

The gesture seems to egg Dongyoung on and he turns Jungwoo’s face all the way towards him, hands never leaving his cheeks. One of his fingers taps a pattern against his jaw, and it’s ridiculous how easy it drives Jungwoo to lean into his hold. As if the chatter around them and the alcohol in Dongyoung’s system weren’t there for a second.

“Too long. My baby left too long.”

That word again.

The worst part is how badly he lets it get to him. When his sister was telling him about his niece over the phone last Friday and the word baby came out, it took him a second to realize his finger had unconsciously pressed the big red phone button and had to come up with how shitty the service is in Seoul when he dialed again.

Jungwoo frowns a bit, just enough that his eyebrows shift slightly closer together and a crease appears between them, and all Dongyoung can think about is how wrong it looks on him, his hand reaching out on its own accord to smooth out Jungwoo’s forehead. He’s buzzed up, movements lazy and a loopy smile taking over his face.

“The other day I was reading this book. I mean, I read a lot of books, you know? I kinda have to study like, the words and stuff,” he nods wisely, giving his drunk explanation of what Linguistics is. His hands are still holding Jungwoo’s round face. “And there was this line that, it went like _, if love is daydreaming in action, then he is the stuff dreams are made of.”_

Jungwoo doesn’t like where this is going.

Dongyoung grins, hands squishing his friend’s cheeks. “Get it? You are a dream, Kim Jungwoo.”

And then the inexcusable happens, and Dongyoung leans down to peck the corner of Jungwoo’s mouth. Jungwoo’s ears keep ringing long after they part, shock transforming into anger.

Dongyoung can’t figure out why Jungwoo would look at him as if that was the meanest thing he could have come up with, when he thinks he’s never said anything sweeter.

He’s even more clueless as to why Jungwoo would get up and leave.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t kill AFK players!”

Yukhei shoots at a standstill character until bold white and red letters report _eliminated JISUNGK1LLER02._

“That could have been a ten year old! You murdered a _child_!” Mark screeches, vigorously shaking Yukhei by the arm while the other laughs, seal clapping like it’s the funniest thing ever.

Jungwoo sighs from the couch, pausing the video he’s watching on his phone. It’s impossible to pay attention to it when he has two loud freshmen shouting at a notebook screen four feet away from him.

“Now I know why Mark’s roomie kicked you both out,” he throws his head back, hand massaging his temples. Their reply is a mix of shouts and something half-Chinese half-Korean from Yukhei that he doesn’t really get.

It seems to work, anyway, since Yukhei minimizes the Fortnite tab. Mark tells them he’s going to the kitchen downstairs to grab something to drink and yells to Yukhei as he walks out the door that _someone is going to kill you while you're AFK too! Just wait!_

His friend stands up and sprawls over the back of the couch, body bent in half and head hanging upside down, his big hand automatically going to Jungwoo’s thigh and rubbing up and down—a habit Jungwoo thinks is both endearing and irritating.

Yukhei, ever the bad actor, clears his throat and fakes casualness. “Oh, Dongyoung asked me to ask you why you won’t answer his texts,” he says in an unusually high tone.

Jungwoo notices not for the first time that a lot of their friends are walking on eggshells around him and Dongyoung, curious but cautious about whatever is going on between them, meddling in their own lowkey way. Taeyong pulling Dongyoung aside during lunch where he caught the words _Jungwoo_ and _okay_ , or Kun slipping a question here and there about how they are doing (they aren’t even _doing_ —Jungwoo is busy completely ignoring his best friend who in return pretends everything is normal, as if it isn’t obvious enough Jungwoo is giving him the silent treatment).

Jungwoo could deal with drunk flirting, with Dongyoung cuddling up to him and making his heart flip time and time again just with words. But kissing him, going beyond a _you’re pretty_ and calling him nice names, actually leading Jungwoo into believing Dongyoung wants him like that, cares about him the same way he does, that’s just going too far.

His best play was, of course, to do as if he doesn’t know Dongyoung until he can get over it or build up the courage to confront him. He is silently rooting for the first one—it’s easier, there’s no humiliation and no hearts are broken.

“He knows damn well why I haven’t answered,” Jungwoo says to Yukhei’s large inquisitive eyes. His mouth downturns slightly, and it opens and closes for a bit before he finds it in him to tell Jungwoo, “Um, all I know is that Dongyoung looks a bit… I don’t know, guilty but not really? He’s clearly troubled about something, so. Just so you know. He’s not completely unaffected by it. Whatever that is.”

Mark walks back in from his trip to the kitchen, Pepsi in hand, and Yukhei leaves his side to go back to his game.

It’s safe to say that Mark’s laughter can be heard all the way outside the dorm when Yukhei opens the Fortnite tab and the screen reads _eliminated by RENJUNATION._

 

* * *

 

Dongyoung missed his first day of kindergarten. It’s a story his mum has told him a hundred times between laughs, musing about how cute he was as a kid. She retells how he had been crying so hard she was afraid he was going to choke from lack of hair. He had held onto her legs and cried for a while, with his mother doing her best to comfort him. In the end, it had taken her so long to make the tears stop that they had to go back home, a long talk ensuing later about Dongyoung getting to meet other kids, about mommy needing to go to work, didn’t he want to make friends anyway?

It’s not that four year old Dongyoung didn’t want new friends, it’s that he didn’t know _how_ to get them. In fear of the unknown, of having his security blanket ripped away from him and being left on his own, Dongyoung sobbed. It was fright of being alone seeping through the cracks in his tough, tryhard independent little kid exterior.

Now the fear of loneliness seeps not in tears, but in repressing and ignoring in favor of avoiding change. Change was another big word that made his stomach churn.

“Hyung?"

His phone screen comes back into focus, blurry figures taking the shape of a bed haired Jaehyun in his family home. Dongyoung sinks down on his seat, shifting the phone from one hand to the other.

“Hmm? Sorry, I zoned out,” he rubs his eyes, genuinely tired. “Class went on forever today.” It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s also not what his mind keeps going back to.

Opening up isn’t in his comfort zone. He only ever does it when he has to, mostly to Jungwoo, sometimes to Jaehyun, and right now he feels like he has to and Jungwoo is not an option, so Jaehyun it is.

“Jae?” he tries, a hum urging him on. “I think I fucked up. Big time.”

“What happened?”

How does he do this without actually spilling everything?

“Okay. Hypothetically speaking, say you think you're into someone—not any someone, like, someone you’ve known your whole life and you don't really know who you would be without them kind-of someone, but you aren't sure. So, uh. You flirt with them when you're drunk so you don't have to explain yourself because they don't actually know if you're being sincere, but you really, really are, though. So you think you are pining over a really important someone and you don't know how to tell them sober because you are scared shitless of fucking up so you—yeah, you keep getting drunk just to try to get it across that you like them but you don't _know_ if you really want the other person to know so you keep going in circles.”

Jaehyun has his eyebrows raised in curiosity through the whole thing, and then he chortles. “Are you in love with me? _Dude,_ I never would have guessed—”

“Ew, gross,” Dongyoung says louder than he probably should at midnight on a week day. “How did you even get to that conclusion?”

Jaehyun shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t really know what to tell you, Doyoung. Other than you’re being dumb,” he grins when Dongyoung raises his fist and shakes it over-exaggeratedly. “Maybe you could go to Jungwoo about this, he always knows what to say”

Dongyoung sighs. _Here goes nothing._

“Yeah, about Jungwoo…”

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, when you pour shaken up soda too quickly, the foam grows, goes up and up, and you’re left staring at the glass in hopes that it doesn’t fizz over, only to stop right when it reaches the brim.

There’s times Jungwoo feels like that, like there’s something building up in his chest and at the very tips of his fingers, threatening to make a mess and spill over. But then the buzz dies down, Jungwoo emptying the glass with a light chest and steady hands. Until, with time, it happens all over again, like an itch he can never scratch away.

He takes and takes, keeps it all in and never says a word. Jungwoo is afraid one day the foam will grow one inch too many, and the glass will overflow.

For now, he lets the foam be, and tampers it down the only way he knows how.

“Come over?” A pin could have been heard drop at the other end of the line. Jungwoo shifts on the bed, pulling the quilt higher up his legs, and whines a quiet _please?_ into the phone until there’s a sigh and the line goes dead.

Sitting quietly, Jungwoo burrows himself into his duvet a bit more and turns to the north american movie playing without subtitles on his notebook—Yukhei has a dumb theory that if you listen enough to a foreign language, your brain will slowly get used to it _and, like, absorb it or something,_ and Jungwoo is not one to usually encourage his tomfoolery, but he _has_ learnt some English phrases after a movie or two, so yes, _Just Married_ is playing unsubbed for the third time that week.

Sarah and Tom have just arrived at a shady hotel when there’s a knock on his dorm door. Small chat can be heard outside his room, so his roommate must have gotten the door, and Jungwoo waits as he watches Sarah break the kiss and scream out when she sees the cockroach on Tom’s neck. The knob turns and someone slips into bed with him.

“Again?” Kun groans after he sees the notebook’s screen, dramatically throwing his head back while he whines about burnt out romcoms. It pulls a grin out of Jungwoo, and this is exactly why he needed him here.

Pressure and sorrow may push at Kun, and he may bend under the weight, sometimes may even crack, but he never snaps in two. His glass doesn't fizz over because he takes a sip before it's too late, drinks down the foam and leaves the glass full and froth-free.

Jungwoo’s mouth goes nowhere near the glass: he would rather turn it upside down and drain it. That's what sets them apart. Kun faces life head on, Jungwoo turns a blind eye.

“Come on, I called you here for cuddles.” Jungwoo fits himself against Kun’s front, the top of his head pressed to his friend’s chest and legs one over the other.

“You sure that's what I'm here for?” Kun always knows when there's more to it than someone may let on. That's the one other reason why Jungwoo needed him right then. “You sounded upset over the phone.”

He was upset, _is_ upset right now. And the worst kind of upset: gay-unrequited-love upset. Kun has to be aware that is what this is all about, everything is always about Dongyoung with him.

“I really like him,” Jungwoo whines. It’s a conversation they’ve had time and time again, but Kun persists with his same old advice, saying, "Then tell him. He can’t read minds, you’ll just have to let him know.”

Jungwoo makes a _hmmph_ sound, uncertain. “He _must_ know, though. I’m not exactly lowkey about it.”

“Dongyoung is denser than osmium,” Kun muses, making Jungwoo lift his head from his chest looking confused. “Osmiwhat?”

“It's the densest metal in the world—” A pillow hits Kun in the face.

Kneeling on the bed, he brings the pillow up and down on Kun’s torso, the latter blocking his attacks however he can with his arms crossed over himself. “I’ve told you,” pillow to the shoulder, “a hundred times,” pillow to the chest, "I don’t care about your weird rocks and shit.”

“What rock! I told you that's a metal!”

Pillow to the head. “Damn science majors.”

On screen, someone is telling Tom that _you never see the hard days in a photo album, but those are the ones that you get from one happy snap shot to the next._

Jungwoo can’t understand shit. Fuck Yukhei, he’s turning the subtitles on.

 

* * *

 

Dongyoung supposes his friends would get tired of their constant back and forth at some point and they’d up their meddling game to actually do something.

Taeyong asks him to come over to his dorm, something about movie night with the rest of the group. As soon as he knocks on the dorm door, it opens and he’s pulled inside, Taeyong slipping out with a _talk things out, okay? Knock once you’re done,_ and then the door closes on his face and the lock clicks. Way to be overdramatic.

“Why do you keep toying with me?”

Dongyoung turns to see Jungwoo standing at the end of the tiny hall. He’s staring intently at the floor, his fidgety hands a tell-tale sign he’s nervous, but his words don’t seem forced out, more like they were rehearsed over and over. He’s willing to talk, no surprise etched on his face, so Dongyoung guesses he was in on it with Taeyong.

“I haven’t...” He starts, but trails off as Jungwoo raises his eyes and fixes his gaze on him. There’s no room for argument when he looks at him like that, like he knows something even Dongyoung doesn’t. It’s a change from his demeanor days ago, distant but doubtful, glancing at him when he thought Dongyoung wouldn’t notice.

“What’s going on, Do?” And as much as Jungwoo may try to sound demanding, there’s an ever present benevolence in his tone, in the way he looks at Dongyoung nearly pleadingly. Because that’s Jungwoo: always well meaning to a fault.

Dongyoung wants to hate him for it. He only manages to fall a bit more.

Jungwoo takes a step forward, frown deepening. “Talk to me.”

He makes it sound so, so easy. Why doesn't it feel like it then?

It’s never easy with Dongyoung. It _can’t_ be easy—he wouldn’t know what to do if it was.  

“I never played with you,” he finally says. _Never intentionally_ , he reasons to himself, _never aiming to hurt you_. By the looks of it, he's failed spectacularly. “I was drunk, I—Do you actually think I have the hots for you?” His defense mechanism kicks in, his security blanket being ripped away from him once again. In fear of the unknown, cling to what you do know. Lie, if needed.

Jungwoo shakes his head, lips set into a thin line. Dongyoung can tell he’s riling him up, but fear eats at him.

“No, you’re not doing this. I’m not letting you play dumb,” Jungwoo steps forward once more. “Say it.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I don’t—I don’t want this, Jungwoo. I don’t,” he smiles bitterly, hand already reaching out to knock on the wood behind him. Taeyong opens after a few seconds, and this time it’s him slipping out and away, running from what he thought he knew but doesn’t anymore.

The foam isn’t quick enough. The glass is already tumbling over. It hits the ground and clashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JISUNGK1LLER02 was, in fact, a ten year old


	3. iii

There’s a common misconception people tend to have about Jungwoo, this certainty that no matter what you throw at him he'll take it in stride. All-round smiles, always ready to please, naiveness that allows them to take him for granted. It doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it’s not something Jungwoo tries to change: he knows he’s more willing than average, his smile a bit wider than most, that there’s an air of easiness about him that makes him come off as the dictionary definition of amenable. He’s never really minded it; if anything, it means he’s a people magnet, and his real personality doesn’t stray too far from the friendliness he gives off.

Jungwoo when he feels he's been wronged, though. That's a different story, one that tells of long-held silences and must-be-earned forgiveness. It’s true he’s always well-meaning, like Dongyoung has insisted thousands of times before with stars in his eyes, but he’s especially so to himself.

Kun has been on both ends: the object of Jungwoo’s icy stares and the ear that eats up his rambling on whoever crossed the line with him. Both are equally as awful.

He winces when Jungwoo’s bowling ball fails to knock any pins for the third time in a row. He’s usually a strike-or-spare type of player—it seems like today he’s just the gutter-or-gutter type.

While the rest of their team and their rivals take their turns (Donghyuck delays them a few minutes by demonstrating the proper posture for a foolproof strike, with Ten trying to push him off the lane so he can _please_ _just play for once_ ), Jungwoo takes a seat next to him with a dejected sigh.

Kun rubs his shoulder, thumb digging on what feels like a contracture, and his friend visibly deflates. A bit of tension lifts from his shoulder, and Kun picks up where they left off their conversation, paying attention to where to apply pressure with his fingers according to the faces Jungwoo makes. “Why did you have go to Taeyong though? You could have, I don’t know, called him up and asked him to talk. He’s been trying to get you to answer his texts for weeks.”

Jungwoo hums and opens his eyes that unconsciously closed during the spontaneous massage.

“Do wanted to talk to me but he didn’t want to talk _with_ me,” he tries to explain, interrupting himself with a _ohh there there_ when Kun massages just the right spot. “If I had said _okay, Dongyoung, let’s talk_ and we had faced things his way, he would have just said to put it in the past and that it won’t happen again, ‘cause I’m really important to him as a friend and he honestly didn’t mean it like that, blah blah.”

Kun snorts in the midst of Jungwoo’s mocking, looking incredulous. He takes his hand off the other’s shoulder just to push him playfully. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same,” he laughs. Jungwoo is the perfect picture of pretend bafflement.

“What? It’s true,” Kun insists, pointing at him, finger so close Jungwoo would go cross-eyed if he tried to focus on it. “You both hate confrontation. You deal with stuff by repressing it and Dongyoung’s hobby is denial.” He grins then, like he’s just figured out the winning numbers for the lotto. The only prize they get them is Jungwoo going red in the face. “That’s why you asked Taeyong to lock you two in a room, you couldn't get yourself to do it without someone else practically forcing you two together.”

 _You two together_ , it sounds funny when Jungwoo says it in his head.

Yukhei joins them after his turn is done, and sits on the floor between Jungwoo’s legs with his head leaning on his knee, pulling out his phone and wordlessly letting them carry on with their conversation. Jungwoo wonders in all earnestness how he would cope without this old soul that seems to have an answer for everything sitting next to him and the six-foot guy leaning on his leg who can make things alright without words; or in some cases, with all the wrong ones. Not like he’s ever telling them that.

He slips a hand into Yukhei’s hair, who rubs his head against his leg in response. It’s the little push he needs to turn towards Kun with a frown, eyes searching aimlessly for an answer in a half-empty bowling alley.

“I’m mad, but I’m also really sad. And also worried sick. I kinda want to call him to yell at him and then ask if he’s had lunch today,” he admits, curling his fingers around strands of Yukhei’s hair.  

It’s an odd mix of feelings the ones he’s juggling. One minute he hates Dongyoung’s guts for hurting him like this, the next he’s wondering _what if he falls asleep oddly and he doesn’t have his inhaler on him?_ He thinks of the spare one he keeps in his backpack at all times just in case, and ponders whether he should give it back if they truly end up falling out. When did it get to this?

Yukhei’s now looking up at him, Jungwoo’s eyes jumping between the both of them before saying in a quiet voice, “he wouldn't just brush me off like that, you know? No matter what. l know him, there's something he isn't telling me.”

Donghyuck cheers in the background, insisting to a frowning Ten that his ball went to the gutter because he never listens. _It’s all in the hips!_

Kun grabs his free hand and gives it a squeeze before letting go. “For the record, I think there’s a lot you two aren’t telling each other.”

 

* * *

 

Jungwoo constantly pokes fun at Dongyoung for his asthma. It's a bit of a cover up for it being the reason Jungwoo worries over him endlessly, even when he doesn’t need to. Also for it helping him notice all those years ago and for the first time that his heart stuttering in his chest whenever Dongyoung’s around isn’t exactly platonic.

They're sixteen and laying on the living room couch in Jungwoo’s house after a long school day, an empty bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table and the TV showing flashes of different channels as Jungwoo’s thumb goes _click, click_ on the down button. Dongyoung fell asleep sitting, and his head slid down until it rested just over Jungwoo’s shoulder, his breath hot when he exhales open-mouthed, tickling the bare skin of his neck.

He’s all curled up, limbs at odd angles, and Jungwoo feels bad for the crick in his neck he’ll likely wake up with. Dropping the remote on the sofa, he considers waking Dongyoung up and asking if he wants to take Jungwoo’s bed, or at least rearrange himself comfortably on the couch, only for him to start coughing in his sleep. It’s one, then two, and then he’s coughing non-stop.

There’s no need to shake him awake, because he does so by himself, covering his mouth with his elbow when the coughs won’t stop coming. Jungwoo stares, completely lost. Did he get sick mid-nap? Or like, choke on his own spit? Does he just pat his back?

That’s when the wheezing starts, and Jungwoo puts two and two together.

“You're _asthmatic_?” he shrieks, eyes frantic, saying the word like it burns his tongue. His first instinct is to call an ambulance, his mum, _Dongyoung’s_ mum, but before he can lift a finger, Dongyoung reaches out the best he can to point at his school backpack, thrown aside next to the front door. Jungwoo looks back and forth between them both before he scrambles for it and sticks his hand down Dongyoung’s bag, catching on to what he may want. After a bit of feeling around, he wraps his hand around an L shaped plastic and tosses it at Dongyoung quickly. His friend catches it rather clumsily and shifts it around until he can put his mouth on it and puff.

Jungwoo fixes his gaze on Dongyoung until his breathing is back to normal and his inhaler is left on the coffee table, and he wastes no time pulling him into a hug, true to his overdramatic nature.

“Fuck you,” Jungwoo swears, irrationality mad but uncaringly so. “Why would you do that?” he asks, weakly punching at his back. It elicits a few coughs from Dongyoung, who’s a bit surprised at how Jungwoo immediately loosens his fists and rubs his back up and down in quick motions.

“Dude, I can’t help it,” he rasps out. Jungwoo continues to make annoyed noises. “I sometimes get attacks if I fall asleep and I’m not laying down a hundred percent horizontal.”

The explanation only grants him Jungwoo breaking the hug and looking at him like he’s got a screw loose, tilting his head to the side. “Then why did you fall asleep sitting, asshole?”

Dongyoung smiles sheepishly in response, hands raised in mock surrender, to which Jungwoo narrows his eyes.

“You feel okay now?”

“Yeah, it honestly wasn’t that bad—”

Dongyoung is tackled to the couch—with more care than usual, but a tackle is a tackle—and Jungwoo digs his fingers into his sides, not enough to tickle but it does get a few yelps out of his best friend. “You idiot!”

 

* * *

 

“You're an actual idiot.”

Dongyoung smiles with lips pressed tight at a girl passing by, who throws a glance over her shoulder at the two of them, but Jaehyun merely continues to stare unimpressed. The lecture hall slowly begins to fill, and if Jaehyun doesn’t start speaking lower, even the lecturer will hear him—he doesn’t feel like having a psychologist know about his self-sabotaging behaviour and denial issues. The thought of someone judging him silently in Freudian jargon is somehow terrifying.

“Just, _why_?"

“I panicked! We’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, and you said you knew you fucked up. So you go and fuck up again?”

The guy next to them raises his eyebrows in amusement. Dongyoung wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“I panicked,” he whines once again, covering his face with his hands. “He ambushed me!”

For all his obliviousness and helplessness, Jaehyun goes straight to the point with a pat on Dongyoung’s thigh. “Look, from what I’m getting here, you two wanna bone each other. He was obviously willing to take the first step and you got scared off,” he shrugs. “You can't run from your feelings forever, dude. You have to face you like him, and what that means for you both, and that there's always a chance of things going wrong but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.”

Dongyoung drops his hands from over his face, mulling the words over inside his head. All the chances he’s let go of have been because of fear, a _would rather miss than loose_ attitude, and while all of his choices have led him to where he is right now, which he wouldn’t trade for the world, he has to consider which are the choices he’ll take from now on, and where those will take him. Is everything he’s doing right now just pushing him further away from Jungwoo? Is that what he actually wants?

Jaehyun’s decent reflexion is ruined by no other than himself when he goes on with, “so fix it. I don't really know how, but do it.”

Sighing, Dongyoung steps away from his thoughts. “I will never get over the fact you're a Psych major and you’re still useless at giving advice.”

The lecturer walking into the room is what saves Dongyoung from whatever Jaehyun had thought of firing back with.

 

* * *

 

Dongyoung teases Jungwoo whenever he has a crush or some guy looks his way for a beat too  long. It’s a bit of a cover up for Jungwoo’s first date on sophomore year also be the first time he ever denied having feelings for him.

“So? Was he Mister Right?” Dongyoung asks over lunch the next day, talking loudly over the noise in the cafeteria. The way Jungwoo’s face lights up like a Christmas tree makes him breathless in the weirdest of ways, like he didn’t take in enough air before going underwater.

“The rightest,” Jungwoo laughs, eyes glinting. “He was so lovely! You know how fussy I am when I go to the movies,” Dongyoung _ughs,_ “but he never complained! I made us change seats at least three times and he was so nice about it.”

Dongyoung chews his food thoroughly as his best friend gushes over his date. Any time they go to the movies, he always grumbles about Jungwoo wanting to switch seats repeatedly during the trailers in order to find the best ones, retaining him by the sleeve or even going as far as throwing a leg over his lap so he’ll keep still until the lights dim down and the film starts. Whether that’s off-putting for Jungwoo never crossed his mind, and Dongyoung has no clue why he’s wondering that now, when he’s done it dozens of times before without thinking twice.

“Isn’t he an exchange student?” Jungwoo nods in response. “He probably didn’t tell you to fuck off because he didn’t know how to.”

It’s supposed to come off as friendly teasing, but there’s a bite to Dongyoung’s tone that catches Jungwoo off-guard. Snarky is not a defining trait of Dongyoung’s personality, Jungwoo would be one to know. He raises his brows for a second, stalling to see if he’s going to moan over something that’ll explain his apparent bad mood, yet nothing comes, except for Dongyoung offering his dessert to him and asking what they did after the movies.

Jungwoo shrugs it off and goes on about yesterday afternoon, taking the pastry from Dongyoung. He’s a sucker for chapssal donuts.

 

* * *

 

Finals come and go. Dongyoung doesn't quite realize when they're done because no one jumps on his back and laughs next his ear about sweet freedom.

Somehow, that ends up being the turning point, and what makes him finally send the text he’s had in his drafts for weeks to Taeyong.

 

* * *

 

The couple that climbs onto the stage looks worse for wear, this place most likely being just a stop in their bar-hopping, and the time they take to choose a song is as long as it takes Jungwoo to ask for another coke. The glass bottle fizzes over a bit, with the bartender apologizing for the bit of foam that spills out as he pours, but Jungwoo grins and tips the glass his way. The moment he takes a swing a familiar melody rings out, slow but not enough to bring the mood down. Still, it’s just the right track to tick Jungwoo off. It’s _that_ Bolbbalgan4 song, the one he never remembers the name of but knows Dongyoung loves. Muscle memory from too many earphones shared during long bus rides has him running his finger over the volume button at the side of his phone inside his pocket, about to try to turn up the song. He wills his hand to hang limp at his side.

A tap makes him turn around in his stool. Taeyong is there giving him an awkward half-smile, a sign that he’s stalling, and Jungwoo knows he’s only the middleman of whatever he wants to say.

“Dongyoung has been asking for you,” Taeyong lets him know. He points around vaguely, like he doesn't quite know where the other is either.

_Of course he has. Speak of the devil._

Frankly, Jungwoo wasn’t even aware Dongyoung was here—it’s not that big of a place and he didn’t tag along with their group, so whether he just bumped into Taeyong or knowingly came here on his own he doesn’t know. _Doesn’t care, either_ , he tells himself, but doesn't necessarily buy it.

He fakes indifference, shrugging under Taeyong's watchful eye. Bol4’s song ends. He places his empty glass on the bar.

“Tell him to look for me when he isn't drunk off his ass,” he says spitefully, because that's the only time that Dongyoung's bothered to ask for him this past month. At parties or through drunk texts to their mutual friends, but never directly to him. It's getting a bit ridiculous, Jungwoo realizes.

“He isn't drunk,” Taeyong frowns in confusion. “He's the DD.”

Jungwoo _oh_ s, and Taeyong isn't aware why that would change things and turn Jungwoo's mood upside down, but it's clear it does. " _Our_ DD?”

“Yeah, he came with Jae. He offered to drive us and Ten back.” Taeyong’s voice trails off, wondering if he somehow got it wrong, so he swiftly adds a, “unless you would rather get a cab.”

“No, it’s fine,” he shakes his head quickly, and if he had realized how small his voice sounded he would have been a bit embarrassed. Luckily, he’s too busy scrutinizing the whole place, looking for a lanky, dark-haired figure. “Wanna get going?”

It’s barely nearing two in the morning, but Taeyong nods without complaint and braves the crowd to look for Ten.

 

* * *

 

It's one thing to think about all the things you _would_ do in hypothetical situations, what great lengths you would go to, and a completely different one what you choose to do when the time comes. The first one tells of the perception you have of yourself, that that you think you know about you. The second one is a statement of who you really are, whether you own up to it or not.

Jungwoo’s self-awareness is apparently very, awfully, incredibly misguided.

There's only the sound of shoes scraping the pavement as Dongyoung locks up his dad’s car. He’s lucky his family lives relatively close and will lend him the family car every other weekend—Jungwoo is already over the moon with the mere fact his parents are even supporting his Fine Arts degree.

How Taeyong, Ten and Jaehyun manage to slip away to their dormitories once they're inside the building Jungwoo doesn't know, but he is aware he's been walking next to Dongyoung in absolute silence for a while, not having shared a word all night. Even the fifteen minute ride back to the dorms was saved from being devoid of any sound by his Beats Pill and Ten's indie playlist.

Dongyoung seems to be heading towards Jungwoo's room anyway, but he still hooks his fingers on his sleeve in case he's thinking of taking the left and going to his own dorm. It's only natural to let his fingers run down and wrap fully around his wrist, without either of them taking note of it aloud.

The first words of the night are Jungwoo's, who turns to him as he unlocks the door and asks, “You actually want to talk, right? You're not just gonna flee?” to which Dongyoung nods.

The corner of Jungwoo’s mouth perks up albeit tightly, and he pushes the door open with his hip. “Careful with the bags,” he warns.

Dongyoung’s gaze travels down to the floor next to the doorstep to see a carry-on and a backpack leaning against the wall. Right, summer break. He’s been so inside his head he forgot to pack his own bags.

They sit at the foot of the bed, one of the only things not bare in the room midst moving out for the summer. Dongyoung’s eyes roam around before they settle on Jungwoo, who is already looking at him, and as soon as they make eye contact Dongyoung lets out a burst of nervous laughter, open-mouthed and gummy. Jungwoo blinks at him, and next thing he knows he’s laughing along, chuckles pouring out.

It’s cathartic in their own way. After a long month of no talking because of a fight that never really broke out over something they swept under the rug for weeks, a lot has been building up. Finals where their focus kept being spoiled by imaginary conversations, getting glimpses of what the other’s been up to only through their friends, worrying without really knowing over what. It’s drama they had never found themselves being part of, a challenge to whatever ambiguous label they had unawarely put on their relationship some time ago. They laugh because as much as there’s a lot they haven’t said yet, there’s so much more they do already know.

Dongyoung leans forward with a shake of laughter, forehead pressed to Jungwoo’s shoulder, just as their laughs die down. “I missed you,” he says with a last giggly breath, sighing afterwards. He can’t see Jungwoo but he can feel him staring at him, and he’s aware that if he looks up he’ll chicken out, so he presses closer. “That's not what I wanted to say but yeah, I missed you.”

A familiar weight settles on the nape of his neck, Jungwoo’s hand playing with the ends of his hair. That’s where Jungwoo never fails: he’s always reliable, always comforting. Always well meaning to a fault.

It’s exactly because of it that he doesn’t pressure him to speak—at least not verbally, through the pulling on the short strands of black hair speak of urgeness.

“Can I just rant for a bit? No interruptions. You can scold me later.”

Jungwoo nods, rubbing his nape comfortingly. “So a role reversal. You ramble, I nag. Got it.”

Dongyoung grins against his shirt. It’s a small thing, but it’s especially reassuring right now, so he opens his mouth and then opens up.

(In the end, it wasn’t just Jungwoo making it sound easy. He finds himself talking a mile a minute, and realizes that with Jungwoo it’s always been this way. Effortless.)

 

 

“And then I told you you're gorgeous and that felt good, ‘cause it's true and I’ve always thought that. And the next day you acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, and you never asked about it, so I thought, well, as long as I'm drunk I can say whatever I want. I wanted to know how much I could get away with.” A pause. “That sounded less shitty in my head."

“It was shitty, just a bit,” Jungwoo laughs quietly. They've both taken to laying down on the bed, the digital clock on Jungwoo’s bedside table revealing it's almost four a.m. “But I’ve already been mad over it, and I've badmouthed you to Kun enough for a lifetime—”

“What?"

“—so we're good. I'll be bitter for a while but we're good.”

Dongyoung finds the other’s hand laying over the pillow and squeezes, a wordless promise.

It's true that Jungwoo's forgiveness is hard to earn, but Dongyoung bagged it years ago, when he came to him on freshman year with a bio essay and a pile of DNA sequence translations done wrong. That, and years of getting bits and pieces of Dongyoung's mind that he's assembled together to try and understand him.

“I've been in love with you since that one day I found out you're asthmatic,” Jungwoo says sleepily and shifts closer. Dongyoung just chuckles—he's been doing a lot of that for the past hour.

“That's what charmed you?” he smiles, propping up on his elbow and resting his cheek on his free hand. Jungwoo’s eyelids flutter while he shakes his head. Their fingers intertwine, another silent pledge.

“It wasn't even that one time, it was just… How I kept getting worried whenever you fell asleep around me. Even when I wasn’t there with you.” Jungwoo sighs, as if the memory alone strains him. “Remember that week I said I was too restless to sleep? When I would call you in the middle of the night to tell you I was bored out of my mind.”

Dongyoung latches onto it after a long second, his eyes widening and body tensing up. It’s the thought that this was years ago and he’s catching on just now that gets to him. “Oh, you were just checking up on me.”

“I was worried about you, like, all the time.” One eye open, he smirks at Dongyoung in the dark of his bedroom, then closes it once again. “And later that translated into thinking about you all day, and, yeah.”

He expects an _aw_ , some teasing, maybe more cuddles. What he gets is Dongyoung’s lips pressed to his, barely moving, in a pace proper for a lazy, ten past four in the morning kiss. Warm hands travel under Jungwoo’s shirt and down his back, the tips of Dongyoung’s fingers catching on the waist of his jeans when he pulls away.

“Ah, one more thing,” he pants lightly, appreciating Dongyoung’s messy hair, one of his hands still threaded through it. “To gain my absolute forgiveness.”

Dongyoung _hmms_ , dropping a kiss under his jaw, and Jungwoo takes that as a cue to go on. “That one thing you said to me at that last party, about a book you read.” Another _hmm_ from Dongyoung. “I want to hear it again, but without the you being tipsy bit.”

Jungwoo scratches behind his ear, exactly the way Dongyoung’s come to find he loves, and he cannot recall what he was so afraid of in the first place. As if there would ever be place for loneliness with Jungwoo right there, beneath his fingertips and under his skin. All he had to do was reach out.

He goes for another peck just because he actually can.

“You are a dream, Kim Jungwoo.”

 

* * *

 

_(“An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.”_

_One way to think about it: if there is such a thing as an immovable object, then there can’t exist an unstoppable force. Same viceversa._

_Sometimes we think there's a paradox where there isn't one. Sometimes it’s all about finding the fault in your own logic.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking until the end! feel free to leave a comment or ask me anything on my cc: https://curiouscat.me/tooshy


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